


Put Up

by anti_ela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know what I love about demons?” Crowley says, rolling up his sleeves. “I mean, besides how they’re complete morons?” He picks up an iron poker, considers it, and then replaces it among the other tools on the table. “You’re used to pain, so you think this is going to be easy.” He picks up a knife. “Sweet little Crowley. What could he dream up that Alastair could not?”</p>
<p>part of the megexchange</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Up

“You know what I love about demons?” Crowley says, rolling up his sleeves. “I mean, besides how they’re complete morons?” He picks up an iron poker, considers it, and then replaces it among the other tools on the table. “You’re used to pain, so you think this is going to be easy.” He picks up a knife. “Sweet little Crowley. What could he dream up that Alastair could not?”

Meg does not respond, although there is not much she can do. Both her body and essence are bound, although her mind is occupied with things beyond Crowley’s monologuing. Definitely her least favorite part of getting kidnapped and tortured. Why do they always think talking is scary?

“But Alastair’s not the only one who taught you, was he? There was Azazel and Lucifer, but they’re all gone now.” He points the knife at her. “I bet you actually miss the Apocalypse. But I don’t really think that camel’s gonna fit through the eye again, do you?”

Meg spits on his shoes. It’s more blood than saliva, though she doesn’t mind. Blood stains.

He laughs. “Just can’t pick the right horse, can you? How many thousands of years did you devote to those dead bastards? You’re one of the oldest bitches in Hell, and that’s how you spend eternity?” Her right hand’s itching to hold that knife. To slam it down. Feel his femur crack. “You must have piss-poor self-esteem. But that’s okay. I can fix that. You seem skeptical, but see, I have a magical potion to cure all your ills.”

He replaces the knife on the table and starts carding through his pockets. A frown appears on his brow, and she raises an eyebrow. He glares at her, pulls out a hand, and snaps. A small bottle filled with clear liquid appears in it. It’s glowing slightly, and she can swear she hears singing. It travels down her spine, and the vibrations gather in her joints.

“Does sting a bit, doesn’t it? Imagine how it tastes. All this pretty music screaming on your tongue… Do you know what’s in this bottle, love? Memory. Truth.” He shakes the bottle, and she shivers. “Did you know that the Mnemosyne’s actually a thing? I didn’t know. Thought it was bollocks. But when you live in the time of miracles and fairies and angels killing each other off, everything just kinda seems possible, doesn’t it?”

“While I’m still young,” she says.

“Fine. Point is, this is my new favorite thing. It’s like Christmas, honestly. Can I just say, I’m just really happy that you’re here and tied up and I have this brand-new thing to try on you? Because if it reduces you to a pile of goo, well, what’s it gonna do to everybody else?”

“Can the talking just be over, please? Best evil plan ever. Five out of five stars. I’m so proud of you. Of course, I’m still going to kill you later, but A+, really.”

He winks at her. “That’s what I like about you. Spunk. Can’t wait to tear that out of you.” She groans. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. Look, I’m loading it in the needle now. Now I’m removing the air bubbles.”

“Does it all have to be narrated? Can’t you just do it?”

“You’ve got no sense of showmanship. You have to have pride in your work, Meg.”

“Just kill me.”

“Fine,” he says, stabbing the needle into her spinal column.

“Good,” she says as sweat starts to bead on her forehead.

He pulls the needle out and tosses it over his shoulder, eyes never leaving her face. Her eyes cloud black, and she starts to shake. He wishes, briefly, that he’d thought to have a psychic brought down for this, but then he’d have to possess the psychic, and honestly it was all just so complicated. Why hadn’t humans just invented mind-reading devices yet? He sighed. Recording everything in boring audio and visual spectrums would have to do, but what’s the point in fun new ways to torture if you have to have an exit interview?

Oh, well.

He shuffles the papers around, humming to himself. He hopes she wakes up soon.


End file.
